Answer
by vargrimar
Summary: The barber tends to make conversation a bit difficult sometimes. Todd/Lovett


"Mister Todd… you all right? You been awfully quiet up here. You know, by yourself and all. Don't you get bored?"

Todd was standing by the window as always, gazing out onto the charcoal-colored cobblestone streets below with a troubled scowl. He looked away only to admire his currently favored razorblade. He said nothing to her; he didn't flinch, nor did he bother to turn his head. No firm admonishments this time. Moonlight from the outside world illuminated his pale face and black hair, further accentuating the shock of white that climbed back through that wild mess. Todd's posture was tall and straight, and the way that he seemed to be entranced by the shimmer of precious metal made her sigh, bothered that his head was elsewhere instead of properly between his shoulders.

"Well, what I mean to say is… don't you get lonely?" She paced leisurely about the room, though careful not to tread too close. He seemed to be in one of those pensive moods that could sway into either serene silence or sudden violence. "I got Toby downstairs and I got all those customers that pile in day after day, but you don't have much up here, do you?" As she walked along the old wooden floorboards, her eyes caught sight of a pair of framed photographs on the quaint little vanity table. Stark white and cool gray, smiling back were the faces of Benjamin's Lucy and Johanna. Benjamin's wife and daughter. Benjamin's life. _Benjamin's_—not Sweeney Todd's.

"No. I've all that I need." His skillful hands held an ornate silver razor with loving care. The blade was flicked open and closed with such deft swiftness. A proper artist, indeed. "I do miss the occasional customer," he then lamented, striding with an odd sort of elegance to the mechanical barber chair in the center of the room. His free hand gently caressed the top of the chair's back as he did so, his fingers running along simply and smoothly until they met its end, where then they promptly fell to his side. "Business seems to be a bit… slow."

Mrs. Lovett didn't fail to notice the ominous note that had entered his voice. She quickly turned her attention from the old photographs. "We'll get him," she assured, fully understanding what he was preoccupied with—_always_ preoccupied with—because his whims never changed. "We will. So don't you worry, Mister Todd. Things might yet edge in your favor."

His dark eyes had roamed out the shop's window again, out to the filthy, vermin-filled streets that he so loathed. His nose wrinkled with apparent displeasure. "I don't like waiting."

"I know," she said in a soft, even tone, for she sensed the gradual unraveling of his bearings. Mrs. Lovett mustered the courage to draw closer, and so she walked toward him with small, nearly tentative steps. "Patience is key, you know. Got to wait for the right opportunity. I'm sure that it'll arise soon enough."

"I've had patience, Missus Lovett." He breathed in shortly, almost as a subconscious attempt to calm himself, but his eyes did not leave the smoky view of London. He was completely still when she put her hand comfortingly upon his arm. "Patience. Patience. The judge escaped me with patience. _Escaped_." Todd spit out the last word like venom. His grip around his beloved razor had tightened considerably; his knuckles were growing whiter than white.

Mrs. Lovett could feel his entire body tense. "Hush, love," she said. "It'll be all right now. Calm down. Gettin' all up in a tizzy won't help." Her head leaned to rest upon his shoulder and she took the moment to pat his arm. Mrs. Lovett liked to believe that her gentle consoling helped. "Got to think about other things for a change. Lighter thoughts, eh? Always brooding, you are. It's not healthy. Don't you ever get tired?"

Todd's brow furrowed. He opened his mouth for a moment, ever so slightly, but then closed it again.

"Mister T?" She glanced up to him, wondering if his mind had drifted off again without her knowledge. The lightly bemused expression on his face told her otherwise; he did seem to be paying attention (for once), and that pleased her. "I asked you a question," Mrs. Lovett prompted.

"I know." Todd's reply was almost inaudible, even in the stiff silence that permeated the shabby parlor.

"Questions usually need answers." She patted his arm again, coaxing him, her brown gaze soft and expectant. "I'd like an answer." She felt his muscles begin to relax beneath her hand. The rest of his body soon followed suit. Even the hand that held the silver razor was lowered to rest limply at his side.

"Tired?" he echoed.

"That's what I said, yes. Got an answer for me?"

The barber's lips parted again, just so much, and yet no sound came forth. He cocked his head to the side as if he were puzzled, though about what, Mrs. Lovett couldn't say. Todd then shut his eyes and permitted himself a light, weary sigh. "Yes. Often. Of your chatter."

Mrs. Lovett took this as Todd's not-so-subtle way of stating that she had overstayed her welcome, especially since she had meandered inside without permission to begin with. If he couldn't answer her seriously, then there wasn't much point in staying and irritating him further. "All right, I get it," she said, mostly unfazed by the minor slight. "I'll get out of here and leave you be. Really, all you got to do is ask, Mister Todd, and I'd oblige." She gently patted his arm for a final time, disappointed that she didn't quite have what it took to break through to him. His sincerity was easy to come by, but only in a certain moods, and though she had once seen the workings of smiles upon his face after their mutual epiphany, she had deemed them ghosts of Benjamin Barker's smiles and therefore decided that they were never bound to happen again in great abundance. Mono- to tri-syllabic replies didn't exactly serve as the best incentives to attempt any sort of meaningful conversation, either. "Well, goodnight, then," conceded Mrs. Lovett with a good deal of reluctance. "You sure you don't want something to eat or to drink before bed? A drop of ale or tot of gin to soothe the nerves, perhaps? Goodness knows how much you dwell on things."

"Chatter, Missus Lovett," said Todd.

"Oh, all right. Brood the night away, Mister T. I'll be up in the morning with breakfast. How does porridge strike you?"

His brow was arched in both defeat and exasperation. Mr. Todd's eyes were once more focused on the outlook of London's roads and roofs that stretched outside his window, and those eyes harbored a barely noticeable air of amusement. It was an odd amalgam of body language. "Chatter," he repeated.

"Yes, yes, I got it. Tomorrow, then." Mrs. Lovett grudgingly slipped away from him and headed toward the parlor door. "Sleep well, eh? Those shadows under your eyes are somethin' dreadful. Fancy a blanket or the like to keep your bones warm?"

This time, Todd did not make any move to speak. He simply stood by the barber chair, tall and still, his pale skin and dark hair and white lock contrasting one another so perfectly in the soft moonlight. She noted that apathy hadn't consumed him just yet from the way that he absentmindedly bit his lower lip, and Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but wonder what sorts of things were sifting through his mind (even though vengeance on Turpin was certain). Shrugging to herself, she decided that it'd be best to drop it until she was safely in bed. There, she was sure that Todd couldn't simply give one of his looks and somehow understand exactly what constituted her thoughts. Mrs. Lovett reached for the doorknob and turned, allowing cool night air to embrace her as the door swept open. The small bell mounted upon it chimed. Among thin, gray clouds, dozens of stars managed to shine bright, and the flickering flames of lamps along Fleet Street smoldered determinedly in cobblestone darkness. She drew a deep breath and proceeded to exit his parlor.

And then his voice stopped her short. "I do."

She paused for a moment, processing what he had said, but then nodded dutifully. "All right. A blanket it is. Sit tight and I'll be back up in a tick." Mrs. Lovett started for the stairs.

"Not blankets," said Todd.

Her brow knit with perplexity as she stopped for a second time and quickly turned to look at him. Mr. Todd's back was now to the wall that the vanity rested against, and he stood barely an arm's length from Albert's old chair. He wasn't quite facing her, but he wasn't shunning her, either. A bizarre form of compromise. "Oh…? Then what did you mean? I'm afraid you lost me."

"Your question," he said. Todd's responses were always so brusque and succinct, able to express so much with so little, and yet still they seemed to be infuriatingly cryptic. The barber mystified her to an unfathomable degree.

"But Mister Todd, that _was_ my question," said Mrs. Lovett, bewildered. She was now being inexplicably drawn back into his parlor, her shoes making soft thuds as she cautiously inched inside. "You know… blankets."

"Your other question." Todd tried to elaborate further; he gestured about with his free hand and opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn't quite successful with his tangle of incoherent mumbles and silence. Once again conquered by his own peculiar puzzlement, he shook his head once and simply said, "Tired."

"Oh," was all she could manage. The surprise induced from his answer had taken hold of her completely. After a few moments' quiet, she found the strength to talk again. "Well… tired of what?"

Todd glanced in her direction. "It was _your_ question. Said so yourself, didn't you?"

"That I did," she admitted.

"Why ask for the answer when you're unsure of the question, Missus Lovett?"

"Well, you know me, Mister T. Chatter and all that. Don't keep track of more than half me words. Who knows what I meant? Could've meant sleepy. That's what tired usually means."

"I'm not 'sleepy,' Missus Lovett," said Mr. Todd.

The discomfort that she was feeling most certainly stemmed from his interest in her previous question. Mrs. Lovett had come rather close to him, close enough to distinctly see the wrinkles in his crisp, white shirt and how his black hair sleeked back into wild waves, and she wasn't sure if she should keep her distance or increase the proximity. "Oh. Well… not quite sure what I meant, then. But it's not like it was anything terribly important, eh? Seein' as how you're so tired of me and all me idle blathering."

"You do have a penchant for such things," agreed Mr. Todd, "but that is not what was implied."

Mrs. Lovett wished that she could see his thoughts and how he functioned in lieu of vice versa. She so hated to be under his scrutiny as she was now. His dark eyes held her gaze—actually _held_, not stared straight through—and now that he was truly paying attention to her, she found herself strangely speechless. "Mister Todd?"

"Tired, yes." He averted his eyes, seeming unable to look at her any longer. His voice was low and so quiet. "Tired of… tired of… a lot." Mrs. Lovett began to speak, but the barber quickly cut her off. "I know," he muttered with clenched fists, "got to have patience. Perseverance, even. But fifteen years, Missus Lovett! There is so much in fifteen years, and there is also very, very little." A deep breath. A chip in the ice. A crack in the wall. "Nothing but shadows now. Shadows all around."

In spite of the jumble of unfinished thoughts that he had voiced, she thought that she understood his meaning as enigmatically put as it was. "You got me, Mister T," said Mrs. Lovett, drawing close to lay her hand upon his arm again. "Well, you got Toby and me both. You know that, don't you, love? You got the both of us. We'll help. We'd do anything at all for you, in fact. So, there's no shadows here. Don't need those kinds of feelings nippin' at your heels when you got us. No reason to feel lonely."

He didn't move, just as before. His body was still and he did not seem adverse to how near she had become. Mrs. Lovett accepted it all as his form of acquiescence. Instead of placing her head upon his shoulder, she daintily stood on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek. It was a chaste kiss, barely a kiss with how lightly her lips had touched his pallid skin, and it made her smile with an unusual sort of delight. She knew very well that it wouldn't be reciprocated—not much ever was with Sweeney Todd—but the pleasure of his unvoiced if indifferent consent was good enough.

Blissful and yet somewhat sad, Mrs. Lovett started for the door of the parlor. "Want that blanket?" she asked, turning to look at him one last time before she left.

"Eminently practical, and yet appropriate as always." It was whispered, mumbled solely to himself, but in that encompassing silence, Mrs. Lovett could hear it all the same. Todd was now facing her directly, the silver razor once held in his hand slipped into its proper holster on his belt. The rare workings of a smile had somehow appeared on his face. It was neither smirk nor scowl, but one corner of his mouth was curved upward just the slightest bit. "There's an answer to that, Missus Lovett," said Mr. Todd.

"Well, I should hope so," said Mrs. Lovett. "I don't particularly like being left hanging, which is somethin' that you seem to have taken a liking to. You got an answer for me?"

His approach was unexpected. Todd hovered over her in the parlor's threshold, tilting his head almost quizzically to the side, his white lock of hair bright in moonlight. He was quite close to her; it was surprising that he had done so willingly. "Are you quite sure of your question?"

Mrs. Lovett wondered what was going through his mind now. The same sort of odd confusion as before seemed to possess him, she noted; she thought that she saw the faintest flicker of disbelief in those dark eyes. Hope lingered strongly in hers. "I am," she assured, "but you don't seem to be too sure of yours, now, do you Mister Todd?"

Todd's brow knit. A frown, albeit a thoughtful one, descended upon him. "Oh. Don't I?"

"No, not really," said Mrs. Lovett. She gently tapped his cheek with her index finger, the place where she had kissed him just moments ago. "Got this look on your face, see? Don't normally see you with it. Seem almost uncertain. Kind of baffled. Just a bit weird, is all. Contrary to how you normally look."

Had he drawn closer? Perhaps it was her imagination. "And how is that, Missus Lovett?"

"Cold. Very cold," she said. And then she smiled a small, pleased smile. Mrs. Lovett found that she understood, just like before, and if she truly didn't, then liked to believe that she did. Even the coldest and most resilient of souls could be affected by such a blight. "A blanket or the like to warm your bones, Mister Todd?"

He strode back into the parlor, his steps slow and purposeful. Todd's left hand rose as if to reclaim a glistening razor from his belt, but instead of reaching for one, it traveled straight past the leather holsters and settled promptly upon his pale cheek, right where her lips had touched. "Warm enough," he muttered.

"As you say, love." Mrs. Lovett's smile did not fade. It only broadened as she stepped outside and began to close the shop's door behind her. "If you ever get tired, Mister Todd," she said, watching him from the corner of her eye, "just let me know. Got a blanket for you if you need it." As she gathered up her skirts and strode down the stairs, she heard him call, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

"Missus Lovett?" Todd stood at the threshold, the hand that was upon his cheek now hovering, extended and hesitant, at waist's height.

She glanced upward to the balcony above to meet his awkward stare. "Changed your mind?"

"Answering a question with a question tends to make conversation difficult, yes?"

Mrs. Lovett didn't quite know how to reply that. "Well, I suppose… but I think that's something I should be telling _you_, Mister Todd."

The barber nodded curtly to himself. "Good answer." He then disappeared back into the parlor without another word. The door shut promptly behind him, and the light chime of a bell could be heard.

With her brow furrowed in thought, Mrs. Lovett continued her leisure descent down the stairs. She had been so satisfied with how she had handled the situation, but now that she dwelled on it a bit more, she had to wonder what had really happened. Covering her face with her hand, she sighed, "Somehow, I do believe I've just been had."


End file.
